


i don't want to set the world on fire

by nerdyscully



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1950s, Alternate Universe - Actors, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Hollywood, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Eddie has religious trauma because I say so, Emotional Manipulation, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Gay Richie Tozier, Multi, Mutual Pining, Rating May Change, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Slow Burn, Sonia Kaspbrak's A+ Parenting, mentions of World War II, mentions of trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:53:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24296155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdyscully/pseuds/nerdyscully
Summary: The year is 1949. Eddie Kaspbrak is a rising star known for brooding, dark roles in film noirs. He gets cast in a movie musical alongside two of the biggest stars in Hollywood - Richie Tozier and Beverly Marsh.That would be a challenge in itself, but having a crush on his costar doesn't make things any easier.
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh (minor), Beverly Marsh & Richie Tozier, Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon (minor), Eddie Kaspbrak & Beverly Marsh, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Patricia Blum Uris/Stanley Uris (minor)
Comments: 37
Kudos: 51





	1. i could've danced all night

**Author's Note:**

> i can't believe i'm finally posting this! i've been working on an old hollywood AU for the losers since late 2019, and i'm finally ready to post the first chapter. this fic has been a large project for me.
> 
> i took inspiration from old films, and the lives of old hollywood stars of the time, though no one is necessarily inspired by anyone else. i hope i could translate these characters' personalities well despite the time difference.
> 
> also, i apologize for any historical inaccuracy, or liberties i take, with both the production of the film itself and just the time period. i did a lot of research, but things will inevitably be slightly different, i'm sure. i wasn't alive in 1949! hopefully this doesn't detract from the story at all.
> 
> smut will likely pop up in this fic, so the rating will later change to explicit. thought i'd throw that out there.
> 
> i hope you enjoy!

Eddie didn’t know Beverly Marsh, but somehow he had ended up at her New Year’s Eve party anyway.

Well, the truth was, he had been invited. Everyone who was signed to MGM was invited to Beverly’s party, and it felt like every single person who was signed was there, even though that would’ve been impossible. Still, her LA home was filled with people, some that Eddie knew, most of them strangers to him. It smelled like cigarette smoke—the distinct smells of each brand all blending into one, overpowering scent. In the middle of it all was Beverly Marsh herself, in a dark emerald dress, laughing at something the man on her arm had said.

The man was Richie Tozier, of course. Eddie couldn’t think of a time that he had seen Richie and Beverly apart. He was wearing his signature glasses; they were thick-rimmed, large things that he wore all the time, except when he was onscreen, playing a different person. He had worn them to every awards ceremony, every red carpet, and Eddie supposed he had heard every comment in the book about them. But they certainly made him stand out, just like his loud laugh that could be heard from across a room.

Eddie had never met Richie or Beverly formally; their only interactions had been polite “hello”s at awards shows and other parties. But when he wandered over to find another glass of champagne, he heard a distinct voice calling “Hey!” and turned to see Beverly Marsh waving her hand, requesting for him to come over. Eddie pointed at himself with a raised eyebrow as if to ask “me?”, and she nodded. When he came over, she gave her one of her dazzling smiles that he had seen on what must’ve been 50 magazine covers by now. Richie was still by her side, but he was talking to someone else, not paying attention to Eddie. As much as he hated to admit it, Eddie was sort of glad that he wasn’t, because he already felt out of place enough talking to a big star like Beverly.

“Hi, I’m—”

“You’re Edward Kaspbrak, right?” She asked. “I’ve wanted to say hello to you all night, but I’m the hostess, you know how these things are.”

He couldn’t say he did know, but he nodded anyway. “Beverly Marsh, it’s nice to meet you. Call me Eddie, please. Everyone does.” He extended a hand to her and she curtseyed exaggeratedly, then laughed.

“I don’t know why I did that. Anyway, it’s so good to meet you. I saw _The Deep Dive_ last month and I adored it! You were so good, I couldn’t dare take my eyes off of you.”

Eddie laughed, a little breathily. He didn’t ask out loud, but he couldn’t help but wonder how she had time to watch movies, especially little noir pictures with genre actors such as himself, when she was so busy with all sorts of things. But he would be damned if he wasn’t flattered. He waved a hand, as if brushing the compliment away. “Oh, thank you.”

“And you were in, um, _The Black Rapids,_ wasn’t it?” Her eyes seemed to sparkle as she talked, with passion and excitement and perhaps drunkenness. “I read the novel!”

He nodded. That was the movie that had made him ‘a household name’, as his manager had put it. His first lead role. The first time he had seen his name mentioned in film reviews and newspapers—the first time he had seen his performance _praised_. Much like talking to Beverly Marsh, it had been surreal and beyond flattering. “Did you like the film?” He had to ask.

“Loved it. I just think you’re so,” she seemed to search for the word, “Expressive. I love your eyes. I would really love to be in a picture with you someday.”

Before Eddie could process _that_ compliment, Richie was back to Bev. “Bevvie, darling, I think I’m out of smokes,” he said. He scanned his eyes over Eddie. “Oh! I know you! Well, I don’t _know_ you, but I’d like to! I’m Richie.”

“Yes, I know,” Eddie said. He wasn’t sure why anyone introduced themselves at these kind of things. “I’m Eddie.”

“Eds! Nice to meet ya.” Richie gave him a strong, wholehearted handshake. “I see you’ve met my friend of the superior sex here.”

“Be quiet,” Beverly said with a little laugh and a nudge. “And I’m all out of cigarettes, too, you’re going to have to get them from someone else.”

“Biggest actress in Hollywood and she doesn’t have a cigarette. Can you believe?” Richie asked Eddie.

“And where would I put one in _this_ dress, Rich? I think they should start making them with pockets.” She tucked a flyaway hair behind her ear.

“Bring it up to Stan’s wife, she sews,” Richie replied. “You got a cig, kid?” He asked.

Eddie shook his head. “I don’t smoke. It’s terrible for you actually.” Richie looked at him like he had grown three heads, or perhaps was speaking another language.

“Aren’t most things that feel good terrible for you?” He asked, looking towards Beverly, who just gave him a good-natured eyeroll. “I’ve smoked a pack a day since I was 13, and I haven’t died yet.”

“You sure you haven’t died this is just heaven, Rich?” Beverly asked. “Good alcohol, good food, attractive men and women?”

“Darling, I know exactly where I’m going after I die, and it ain’t heaven.”

Eddie felt like a bit of an outsider throughout the conversation, but not in a bad way—it was fascinating, to listen to Beverly and Richie talk. It was almost as if it was scripted, like one of their romantic comedies. Quick, snappy, punctuated by dry laughter and drags of cigarettes. Then again, the way they touch couldn’t have been scripted. The gentle nudges and the way their shoulders bumped into each other was familiar and easy. “How long have you known each other?” Eddie blurted out, certain that he sounded more like a fan than a fellow actor.

“Ah, I met Bevvie around…what was it, darling, ’39?”

“No, not so early,” she replied, “I was barely out of school in ’39.”

“But it was before the war,” Richie insisted.

“Was it? When did the war even start, I forget at this point.” She shook her head and drained her champagne glass. “Richie, baby, it had to be ’43. The war had been going on for awhile—you got rejected from enlisting, remember?”

“Damn eyesight. I guess ’43 was when we were in—oh, remind me, was it _The Hotel on Long Island?_ ”

“That’s the one!” Beverly said, as if she had just solved a mystery. “That was our first picture together, and my first starring role—I don’t know if you’ve seen it.” She gestured to Eddie.

He nearly snorted. One of the biggest hits in the past few years, the romantic screwball comedy that everyone had tried to emulate? “Of course I’ve seen it,” he said.

“It was a gas,” Richie said, “As the young ones say these days.”

“Richie’s been a thorn in my side ever since.”

“I think she thought she had gotten rid of me after _Hotel_ ,” Richie said, “But then we got cast in _Little Women_ together, and she had to put up with me for an even longer shoot.” Beverly threw her head back and laughed at that.

“You were something else during that, in all your fancy suits and curly hair.”

“They made me shave my face—I looked about twelve years old!” Richie said, then turned to Beverly and took her hand. “ _Oh, Jo, I love you, I’ll be a perfect saint. I’ll let you win every argument…”_

She swatted his hand away. “That was the finest moment of my career, I think. Getting to reject you.”

“Broke my heart, nearly did, I’m telling you,” Richie said in Eddie’s direction. “So of course, I went off and married her sister. In the picture, of course! I wouldn’t do that in real life.”

“Mmm,” Bev hummed, lighting up a cigarette that someone had passed her at some point. “Are you sure, Rich?”

“Baby, if you had a sister, I wouldn’t look at her twice.”

“Sweet-talker,” she grumbled, but it was good-natured. Not once did Eddie see a hint of malice in either of them. Their conversation was sharp and barbed but with an underlying sort of sweetness to it, the sort of conversation that only best friends, or people utterly in love, or both, could have.

“Say, where is Staniel, anyway?” Richie asked suddenly, scanning the crowd. “Don’t tell me he blew us off for his wife.”

“‘Fraid that’s the case,” Bev replied. “Him and Patty are on vacation, remember? In, um, God help me, I can’t remember.”

“Buenos Aries or something.”

“That’s it.”

“They just got back from their honeymoon, and they’re on vacation _again_?”

“Why have one honeymoon when you can have two?” Bev smiled with a shrug. “Do you know Stanley Uris, dear? He’s a producer, he’s worked with everyone.”

Eddie shook his head. “I’ve heard the name, for sure, but I don’t think I’ve ever met him.”

“Oh, he’s great,” Richie said. “He just got married, and God—if he hasn’t got it bad for his wife, I don’t know who does. I’ve never seen two people completely smitten with each other. Not even in the movies!”

“Real love is better than movies, Rich,” Bev said, affectionately pinching Richie’s cheek. He swatted it away.

“Awh, I don’t need any of that stuff. You know what I love? Champagne. I need another glass. I’ll be back, darling.”

“Good, scram,” Bev said, making a shooing motion with her hand. “He’s something else, isn’t he? Don’t know what I’d do without him.”

“You two aren’t…?” Eddie made a vague hand motion that he wasn’t even sure of what it was trying to convey.

“A couple?” She threw her head back and laughed at the mere possibility of it. “Oh, no, honey, no. We’re awfully close, and everyone _thinks_ we’re seeing each other, but we’re just good friends. I think a tabloid or two has said we’re dating, and it’s all I get asked about in interviews, but no—we’d tear each other’s heads off, if we were.”

“Like Jo and Laurie,” Eddie replied, with a self-satisfied little smile at his own realization.

“Exactly like Jo and Laurie,” she replied. A new song started playing from the large record player that Bev had propped up in her living room. “Oh, I love this song. Don’t you? Do you want to dance?”

“With you?” Eddie’s eyebrows shot up.

“Of course! It’s just a little dance, doesn’t mean anything, but if you’d rather not—“

“No, no, I’d like to, I just,” he felt his cheeks color a bit, and touched one self-consciously. “I don’t really dance. I don’t think I even know how to.”

Bev’s smile was warm and instantly reassuring. “Don’t worry about that, darling. No one will be watching us anyway, and it’s for fun. Now come on,” she grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the center of the room, where what looked like a swarm of people were dancing. The song playing was an uptempo sort of swing tune, something Eddie had definitely heard on the radio, even tapped his foot to, but had never dreamed of _dancing_ with someone to. Especially not arguably the biggest actress in Hollywood currently, at her house party. Perhaps this was all an elaborate dream, but if it was, he certainly couldn’t complain. It had been a nice one.

Bev lead the dance, acting as the “man” as Eddie stumbled along with her, laughing each time he nearly tripped over his own feet. She spun him around so many times he got dizzy, and had to stop to catch his breath, laughing so hard that tears pricked the corners of his eyes. When the song finished, he tried to dip her, but they both fumbled and Bev’s legs tangled into her dress, causing her to fall into Eddie’s chest. It nearly knocked them both to the ground, but Eddie was thankfully able to keep them both upright. “I’m sorry I don’t make much of a partner,” he apologized, smiling sheepishly.

“Oh, what are you talking about?” Bev asked. “You were the best dance partner I’ve ever had—don’t tell Rich.”

“Don’t tell Rich what?” Richie asked, seeming to appear out of nowhere. Eddie nearly jumped out of his skin.

“That Eddie is a better dance partner than you,” Bev said, an eyebrow raised almost challengingly.

“Well, I guess I’ll just have to dance with him to see if that’s true.”

Oh, now Eddie was _really_ jumping out of his skin. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Come on, Eduardo, I’ll lead.” Richie had what could only be described as a shit-eating grin on his face, handing his glass to Bev and pulling Eddie in so close that they were nearly chest-to-chest. Eddie was _burning_ , he was certain of it.

“Richie, you’re tormenting him,” Bev said, though Eddie saw a hint of an amused smiled playing at the corners of her lips.

“I’m not being tormented,” Eddie replied. “Embarrassed, maybe, but not quite tormented—yet.”

“You’ll get me back for it one day, I do lots of embarrassing things,” Richie said. “C’mon, Eddie Spaghetti, dance with me.”

“That is _not_ my name.”

“What was that? Couldn’t hear you over the music.”

Eddie just rolled his eyes, and before he knew it, he was being lead in another swing. Richie was a lot more clumsy than Bev, perhaps by virtue of his large feet, but not too far into the song, Eddie realized he was having _fun_. Neither of them really knew what the hell they were doing, even though they wouldn’t admit it, and Richie was most definitely drunk, but Eddie still found himself laughing as he stumbled through the motions once more. Richie’s hands were big and warm and something in the pit of Eddie’s stomach seemed to drop when he placed them on the small of his back, but he quickly discarded any sort of thoughts that could’ve came from that. Even with the champagne making his head light and buzzing and the loud music making his ears ring and Richie’s hands making every part of his skin tingle, he knew what path he would be heading down if he thought too deeply about Richie in that manner. He had experienced it too many times. So he tried his best to ignore the feeling of Richie’s hands, and they simply danced, stepping on each other’s feet. Occasionally they would catch glances of an amused Bev, who had retired herself to the corner by the record player and was watching intently, cigarette flickering in her hand.

Eddie wasn’t sure how long they had been dancing—a few songs had gone by, for sure. All he knew was he was out of breath with the physical activity and the smoke everywhere. He stepped away to the corner where Bev was, giving Richie an apologetic half-smile, and fished in his pockets for his aspirator. “Don’t tell me I forgot it,” he mumbled.

“Forgot what?” Bev asked, now lounging on the couch by the record player.

“My aspirator.”

“Aspirator?”

“I’ve got asthma,” he admitted. “Ever since I was a little boy.” Thankfully, he was able to locate what he needed and gave it a puff, his chest heaving as he breathed in.

“Oh, _that’s_ why you don’t smoke.”

“Well, and it’s terrible for you, like I said before.” He gazed out at the crowd, where Richie had found another girl to dance with. “Who’s that?” He asked Bev, pointing them out.

“Mm…I can’t remember her name now. I’m awful—Shiela! Her name’s Sheila. She always plays the girl lead’s best friend in the movies she’s been in. I don’t know her well, but she seems like an alright girl.”

“Richie seems to like her,” Eddie said, and a feeling he couldn’t quite identify bubbled up in his chest. Resentment, maybe, that it was so easy for him to get along with people he barely knew, to ask to dance with any pretty girl who came his way. Or, maybe jealousy. Though it wasn’t Richie he was jealous of; he knew who his jealousy was directed towards. But like thinking too deeply about Richie’s hands, it wasn’t a good idea to dwell on it. “Richie likes every girl, I guess,” he mused, to no one in particular.

Bev crushed her cigarette in an ashtray and let out a short “hah!”. “Are you calling him a skirt chaser?”

“N-no, not at all!” Eddie said, though he guessed he was. It was everyone’s assumption of Richie, anyway. Every tabloid had asked the question of “Why hasn’t Richie Tozier married?”a million times.

“I know he seems that way, don’t worry. But he goes home alone every single night. _Don’t_ tell him I told you that.”

“Wouldn’t dare. Say, could you make some room on that couch? Richie about danced me into the ground.”

“He’s a menace,” she agreed, sliding over and patting the spot next to her. “You know, I like you, Eddie.”

Eddie wasn’t sure if anyone had ever told him something like that so matter-of-factly, let alone Beverly Marsh. “Thanks; I like you, too. You know, I normally don’t like parties. When I heard this was happening, I almost didn’t come.” He figured if she could be honest, so could he.

“Well, we’ll have to get a drink sometime—you, me, and Rich. That way there’s not all of this,” she waved a hand, “To distract us.”

“That sounds nice.” He had half a mind to ask _why_ she had taken a liking to him, of all people, considering he was nowhere near her level of stardom, and he kept to himself most of the time, but he figured it was a question best left unasked. Instead, he’d just be grateful for it.

It wasn’t long before Richie made his way over to the couch and flopped down onto it, squeezing himself next to Eddie. He was out of breath and the smell of sweat and smoke lingered with his cologne, but it wasn’t overwhelming enough to be unpleasant. “Almost midnight, you know. A new year.”

“It’ll be 1949…almost a new decade,” Bev said.

“What’ll things be like in 1950, do you think?” Eddie asked.

“I’ll have gray hair by then, probably.” Richie threw a hand over his forehead dramatically. “I’ll have to go into hiding!”

“You’re so vain,” Bev reached over Eddie to swat at him. “ _All_ your hair can’t possible go gray in just a year’s time.”

“Say, Eds, what do you want to do in the new year?” He turned to look Eddie in the eyes, and it was the closest they had been all evening. Eddie noticed every little thing he could on his face, memorizing it.

“Oh, I don’t know. I’ve got more auditions lined up, so I guess it’s all I can ask for.”

“That’s good. Maybe we’ll even do a picture together, huh?” Richie grinned. “I could be in one of those private eye movies, couldn’t I, Bevvie?”

“If you played a private eye who couldn’t shut up,” she said. Eddie snickered, and she shot him a grin. “I think Eddie would be good in a romantic comedy, though.”

“No,” he replied, shaking his head emphatically. “I don’t think I have that sort of charm.”

“You never know!”

“Yeah, they’d just have to get a short gal to play opposite you,” Richie said, “Since, you know. You’re not exactly tall.”

“Richie, will you _shut up_?” Bev nearly shoved him off the couch.

“I’m five foot nine, which is average height in most of the world, thank you.”

“Whatever you say, pal,” he replied, and even though Eddie shot him a dirty look, he wasn’t truly mad.

More conversation and drinks were had, but the three of them remained on the couch until it approached midnight. Bev had snuggled up to Richie, her head resting on his chest while his arm was slung around her shoulder. Eddie didn’t realize how close it had gotten to the New Year until he heard people in the crowd counting down. They joined in, and when the clock hit midnight his eyes scanned over the crowd, watching people embrace and kiss, drunken and sloppy. Bev leaned over to kiss his cheek, which he returned, then watched her and Richie share a friendly peck. At some point, a rowdy, off key rendition of “Auld Lang Syne” rang out, and everyone joined in, including Eddie.

At some point, maybe in the second verse, him and Richie locked eyes as they sang. A lopsided smile curled up the edges of Richie’s mouth, and a warmth burst in Eddie’s chest, the kind he felt when he drank too much. He knew the warmth wasn’t from the champagne, but it was an easy explanation for it.

He was glad he had gone to Beverly Marsh’s New Years party. In fact, he didn’t know why he had been reluctant about it in the first place.


	2. crazy, he calls me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for all the lovely feedback on chapter 1, it was so motivating and it really made me happy to receive such amazing comments! this chapter is a bit shorter than the first and it is dialogue heavy, but we'll get into the juicy bits of the story soon.

“How did that screen test go?” Bill asked. Eddie could hear him shuffling something around through the phone; probably papers or whatever else was littering his desk at the moment. “It was for a comedy, wasn’t it?”

“A comedy musical, if you can believe it. My agent said it would be a good idea to test for it. Prevents type-casting.”

“Lots of dramatic actors do that,” Bill replied. “Did they have you sing, too?”

“Yup.” Eddie winced a little. “First time I’ve been asked to do that in a screen test. I felt—well, I felt like a fucking fool, if you really want to know.”

“I doubt you looked or sounded like a fool. You’ve got a nice voice. Didn’t you used to sing in church? Is that what you told me?”

Another wince. Church was something Eddie had left behind as soon as he turned 18, and he didn’t particularly feel like revisiting it. “Yeah, but only because my mother wanted me to. It wasn’t exactly fun.”

“No, I don’t think ‘fun’ and ‘church’ are words I would pair together. Not in my books anyway.”

Eddie let out a breathy chuckle. “No, in your books something awful usually happens in a church.”

“Surprised I haven’t gotten more heat from that. As far as I know, no one’s called me anti-Christian or anything like that. Anyway, do you think you’ll get cast? In this musical picture?”

Eddie made a sort of noncommittal, unassured noise. “We’ll see. Casting director’s supposed to get back to me later tonight.”

“You’re anxious about it, aren’t you?” Bill asked, in a tone of voice that told Eddie that he knew the answer already.

“No, I’m not!” He insisted. “Really, it’d be a blessing to not get into this, it’s totally out of my element and I can’t dance, and—I’d just make a fucking fool of myself. Imagine the reviews!”

“The picture isn’t even cast yet and you’re worrying about the reviews. You’re so predictable, Eddie.”

“I am not,” he said again. “I ought to let you go. You’re working on another book, aren’t you?”

Bill gave him the same noise he had made a few moments earlier. “‘Working on’ is pretty loose. I mostly just stare at my typewriter, wishing I could make the words come out of my brain. But Mike is going to be home soon, so I guess I should probably should go.”

“How is he these days?”

“You know Mike. He’s like, I don’t know. Like sunshine.”

Eddie normally would’ve made fun of Bill for that, told him he was a terrible sap, but instead, he smiled. “You’re fucking lucky, Bill, and I should hate you for it.”

“Trust me, I know. Ah—Mikey just walked through the door. Talk to you later, Eddie; tell me what the casting director says!”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Talk to you later.” Eddie hung up the phone and let out a long sigh. He didn’t really have many friends in the “business”, to the point where the magazines had started calling him a “loner”, but he didn’t really feel like a loner. He had struck up a friendship with Bill Denbrough when he was cast in _The Black Rapids_. He was the author of the original novel, so they gave him a say in casting and directing. He had been there at Eddie’s screen test, smiling the whole time. Later, the director of the movie confided in Eddie that it was the first time he had seen Bill smile all day. He made Bill smile plenty of times after that, something he secretly prided himself in. Bill was the type of friend Eddie never had as a kid, he thought. A kid he could run around the neighborhood with, get dirty with, play pretend and talk about their wild and vivid childhood dreams with. 

But he supposed in order to have a friend like that, he would’ve had to have had a mother that allowed him to hang around other boys, to hang around anyone other than church people at all. And Bill was— _gasp_ —an atheist of all things, perhaps one of the worst things a person could be, next to a homosexual. And Bill was one of those, too. Thankfully, these were things she didn’t know, and he hoped she never knew, because she’d somehow find a way to get out to Hollywood herself and take him away.  
If he let her do that sort of thing, anyway.

Not that he would. He was stronger than that. Certainly.

He decided to distract himself from thinking about whether the director would call him or not by making a pot of coffee and turning on the radio. A song that had played at Beverly’s party came through the speakers, and a small smile tugged on the corner’s of Eddie’s lips. He managed to at least quiet his brain as he ground the coffee beans and boiled the water. Living alone had its perks, but he found that if he wasn’t doing something, all the time, he’d drive himself crazy with only his thoughts; something he had never managed to get over after leaving home, which felt both like it was just yesterday and forever ago at the same time.

He poured himself a cup of coffee once it had brewed and had just sat down to listen to the radio, but before he had the chance to worry about whatever would pop into his head, his phone was ringing again. Eddie wasn’t sure if he had picked up a call so fast.

About five minutes later, he learned he had been cast in _A Marriage in D Minor_ , the musical feature he had screen tested for. He wasn’t the lead; he was playing Robert Beckett, best friend to the main character, Andrew Connors. “Who’s playing the lead, if I can ask?”

“Richie Tozier. You know him, don’t you?”

“Well, of course I know Richie Tozier, everyone in the world knows—"

“Yes, yes,” the casting director said, “But do you _know_ him? I would’ve had you two test together but the schedules didn’t line up.”

“I met him at a party and talked a little.”

“When I was watching the tests back, there was just a feeling I had about the two of you. That you’d have great chemistry. What do you think?”

Eddie laughed nervously. “I mean, whatever you say, you’re the expert here. And the female lead?”

“Who else would we get for Richie—Beverly Marsh, of course.”

Somehow, that comforted Eddie. If Bev had proved anything at the New Year’s party, it was that she could put Eddie at ease in situations he wasn’t usually comfortable in. "Well, I hope I don't let you down; obviously, this isn't my, you know, field of expertise."

“Trust me, trust me. Anyway, I’ll be in contact with your agent, there’s going to be a few weeks of rehearsal to go over the dancing and singing and all of that. I know this isn’t your usual thing, but I picked you for a reason.”

“I’m not going to bite the hand that feeds me,” Eddie said, then added even though I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing to himself. “Thank you for the opportunity.”

They exchanged pleasant goodbyes and Eddie had just hung up the phone when it rang again. His brow furrowed; who now? His agent, maybe, but he wasn’t sure what his agent had to say that the casting director didn’t. “Hello?”

“Eddie Spaghetti!” Richie said, and the smile on his face was audible. “Did you hear?”

“Yes, I did. Also, what a terrible nickname. How’d you get my number?”

“What? Eddie Spaghetti? You don’t like it? But it rhymes! Your number, oh, casting director passed it along to me. What, is that unethical or something?”

Eddie had to think about that one, and reached no conclusion. “Hm, well, I’ve never had a costar—“ he still felt awkward and almost stuck up, saying that, “Call me right after casting was announced. So, maybe?”

“But you’ll let it slide.”

“Sure, I’ll let it slide, for you, Richie.” Just then, he realized he had been smiling for the entire conversation. “I guess you’re excited.”

“Of course I am! And Bevvie is in it, too! And you get to play my best friend, so we’re all going to spend a lot of time together. Of course, you’ll start regretting it after about a week, but you’ll be stuck by then.” Richie laughed, a loud and sort of high-pitched sound. It made Eddie laugh, too, almost in spite of himself.

“Hey, don’t have such a low opinion of yourself,” he replied, a gently scolding tone slipping into his voice without him knowing.

“I never said I did. Just that you’re going to go crazy, probably.”

“I signed up for it. If anything, I’ll go crazy because of all the dancing. I really do not know what they were thinking.” He grimaced at the idea. “But they told me not to bite the hand that feeds me.”

“That’s a good principle, in this business. I’m sure you’ll be fine. Great, even. Of course, Bev is going to dance us both under the table—"

“A given.”

“Yes. But what’s the worst we can do?” 

Eddie had to hold back a laugh then, thinking that if Richie knew him better, he would know that Eddie could think of about 100 “worst we could do” scenarios in less than 5 minutes. But, not wanting to scare Richie off, he just made a softly noncommittal noise. “I guess you’re right. But if you go into rehearsals expecting me to be Fred Astaire, you’re going to be very disappointed.”

“No, you’re much more handsome than Fred Astaire.”

For the first time in their brief relationship, Richie had caught Eddie off guard. He had no snappy retort, no teasing insult. He couldn’t even tell if Richie was teasing, because he sounded genuine, but he seemed to be the type that made jokes while sounding dead serious. Eddie made a wordless, sputtering noise before saying “Oh—be quiet, Richie.”  
“Whatever you say. They cast you for a reason! I heard you’re not a bad singer at all.”

As nonchalant as the praise was, Eddie squirmed a little at it. There were moments where Eddie remembered that one of the biggest actors in Hollywood was talking to him, and that had just made the top of the list. “I sung in choir when I was a kid. In church.”

“More than I can say. I’ve gotta go, but I’ll see you next week, at rehearsal, right?”

Eddie hummed affirmatively. “I guess it’s too late to back out now.”

“Bev’s ecstatic to work with you, you better not. Can’t wait to see you, Eddie, my love. You know that song? I'd sing it for you, but I'm waiting to surprise you with my voice when rehearsals start,” he laughed, "Oh, well. I'll be seeing you."

When he hung up, Eddie laid back on the couch and stared at the ceiling. There were a few times in his career that he felt in over his head. One was when he was cast in The Black Rapids, one was when he attended the Oscars and had to do what felt like 100 red carpet interviews (it was really more like 10), and one was Beverly Marsh’s New Year’s Eve party. This, however, made him feel like he was drowning, and he was going to take the rest of the film down with him. 

So, as was customary when he felt this way, he picked up the telephone again and dialed Bill’s number.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading and thank you to my friends, xoxoxo


	3. i'll be seeing you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! i'm sorry that i didn't update as quickly as i could've - i was finishing up another year of university so i put fanfic on the back burner. hopefully i'll be able to update a little more frequently now that i've got more free time. i really hope you enjoy this chapter, as always, i had a lot of fun writing it!
> 
>  **content warnings for chapter:** mentions of parental manipulation and verbal abuse, the word "queer" is used derogatorily, a lot of introspection by eddie, richie doesn't know when to let the fuck up on the jokes

Eddie had walked through the doors to any one of the MGM Studio buildings countless times by now. It was going to work, that was all. Instead of an office, it was a sound stage. Usually in the beginning of a new production, he ran through a list of the things that could go wrong. The easiest ones to imagine were things like set pieces falling on someone, something catching on fire; things that certainly had happened, but rarely. He hated that he worried about things like that, but there was a voice, echoey and high-pitched with concern that he couldn’t get out of his head. _“Don’t do that, Eddiebear, don’t you know how dangerous it is?”_ it said. “Imagine how heartbroken I’ll be if you get hurt!” And on the worst of days, he heard it saying _“This is what happens when you move to a godless city and join a godless business filled with liars and queers”._

“Hey, Edward!” A curly haired man with a bright smile (who was not Richie Tozier) called over to him, after he had stood there looking blankly around for a few moments. “You alright over there? C’mon.” _  
_

He made his way over, watching people set up instruments and pass papers around. “I’m Stan Uris,” the man said, accompanied by a firm handshake. “I’ve worked with Rich and Bev before, but not you. Good thing you got here early.”

Eddie recognized the name—not just because Stan was a producer who had made a name for himself, but he remembered Richie and Bev mentioning him at the party. He had gone on a trip and missed the party, Eddie recalled. Head over heels in love with his wife, something like that. “Nice to meet you. Uh, I hope I don’t make you feel like you’ve made a huge mistake.”

He chuckled and shook his head. “I know this isn’t your usual type of film, but we thought you really fit the part, and you had good chemistry with the two other leads. Even though you didn’t screen test together, I just thought you and Richie really had something. Have you met them? Richie and Bev?”

Eddie thought of asking what this _something_ was that him and Richie supposedly had, but he wasn’t sure what answer he was looking for, or why the comment struck him as odd in the first place, so he pushed it down. “Yeah. We met at Bev’s party on New Year’s.”

“Oh, yeah, the one I missed! Richie was so pissed at me for that, but I was in Buenos Aires with my wife. You really ought to go sometime, it’s gorgeous.”

 _“Why would you go to such a dangerous place as South America—a nice clean boy like you might get robbed!”_ A voice called in his head. He cleared his throat. “Maybe someday. I’m kind of always working.”

“Right, you’ve been in a lot of stuff. I really like those mystery pictures, and you’re so good in them. You’ve got exactly the right face for it.”

It wasn’t the first time he had heard that, but he always found it to be a funny compliment. It was like people thought he never smiled or anything. “I hope I’ve got a good face for a musical, then.”

“Of course you do, especially next to Richie. Hey—there they are, _finally_.” Stan beckoned the two of them over. “We wondered when you were going to show up.” Eddie could tell from the way he spoke to them that they were friends. He sounded only mildly pissed off, more affectionate and happy to see them than anything else.

“Eddie Spaghetti!” Richie threw an arm around Eddie, as if they had known each other for years and it wasn’t their second time seeing each other in person. Richie always seemed to be able to do that to people—talk to them and interact with them in a deeply personal way, even if they were essentially strangers. Eddie wasn’t sure if he admired it or if it made him a little nervous. Maybe both. “Hey, we’re on time, aren’t we?”

“We are,” Bev confirmed, “You know how Stan is about being early.”

“I like getting things done efficiently. Sue me,” Stan replied.

“Stan the Man. I love you, I love you dearly, like a brother, really,” Richie rambled, “But things will _never_ be done efficiently. Not in Hollywood.” He reached over to ruffle Stan’s head of curls, and his hand was quickly pushed away.

“Well, we can at least try. Hey, the music director is on their way, so no funny business, Rich.”

“Funny business? Me? Never,” Richie scoffed. “I’ve never performed _one_ act of funny business in my life.”

“Richie, your first film was called _Funny Business_ ,” Stan replied, with a dry tone and a raised eyebrow.

“Damn it.” Richie kicked at something imaginary on the ground. Bev hid her laughter behind her hand, as if she didn’t want to enable him by laughing at his jokes. Stan gave him a friendly shove on the shoulder and brushed past them to greet the woman who had walked into the room and was setting up music at the piano. “Stan acts like a hardass, but he’s real soft, deep down,” Richie commented, in a low voice. His arm was still firmly around Eddie’s shoulders, and for whatever reason, Eddie hadn’t pushed him away. “You should see him around his wife.”

“Truly head over heels,” Bev replied, “It’s sweet.”

“Um, ma’am, this is all Greek to me,” Richie said after squinting at the notes for a few moments, despite wearing his glasses.

Edith chuckled. “It’s okay,” she said, “You don’t have to read sheet music, just try the best you can to follow the melody. Can either of you two read this?” 

“I sort of can,” Bev said, “My mom wanted me to learn the piano when I was a kid, but I don’t remember much.”

“I sang in church, so I can read the melody line, at least.” Eddie said. _“You have such a beautiful voice, Eddiebear,”_ the voice called, _“You shouldn’t waste it on something like this.”_ His chest tightened and he coughed a little, earning a concerned look from Bev, which he waved away. 

Her expression remained unchanged until Richie cracked a joke. “Well, at least we have two competent people here,” he said, and she swatted him and laughed. 

Edith lead them through a series of vocal warmups, which Richie had a series of quips for, and in all fairness, they did make Eddie feel kind of silly. After a few scales and exercises, they got to learning the first song, a trio number about Bev’s character’s wedding and how Richie’s longed to be the one marrying her, with Eddie’s character giving Richie a pep talk. The problem was that when Richie opened his mouth to sing his solo part, Eddie discovered that he couldn’t sing. 

He wasn’t horrendous, really, Eddie had definitely heard worse. But his range was limited and he ended up sounding flat more than he was on key, and when he tried to do anything other than hold a note, it came out warbly and unsure. “Oh,” Edith interrupted, “That’s right; you’re the one that they might dub over, right?”

“Was it that obvious? Don’t worry—I’m only a little wounded.” Richie gave her a toothy grin. “Yeah, the director wants to give me a ghost singer, since, you know…they want people to see the film.”

Eddie had heard of ghost singers before; they were considered a well-known secret in Hollywood, even if the public wasn’t aware of it. Lots of stars in big musicals couldn’t sing, so they brought someone in with experience in theatre to sing for them. Broadway stars didn’t have the power Hollywood actors did when it came to selling tickets. _Thank God for technology_ , Eddie mused to himself cynically. “You should learn the melody, at least,” Edith said. “Next time we meet, we’ll have a singer for you.”

“And I’ll be resigned to the corner. Ah, and I thought I was out of school!” Richie sighed dramatically, leaning on Eddie as if he would faint.

“Well, it’s like you said. We want this film to make money, Richie,” Eddie said and nudged him away, surprising himself with his bluntness. Richie didn’t seem offended, though; he simply clapped Eddie on the back (“ow”, he added softly) and laughed.

“The business has corrupted him, gotta get him out while we can! C’mon, Bev—”

“Rich, I’d really like to learn the music,” she said, looking mildly amused but mostly tired with her friend. 

“You get a ghost singer one time and everyone treats you like chopped liver. What has my life—” Richie noticed the cutting glare Edith was giving him, and shut up. “Okay, I get it. Beep-beep, show’s over. Let’s sing.”

As the rehearsal went on, Eddie felt himself loosen a little. Bev stared at him open-mouthed when he sang, shaking his arm when he was done and breathing out “Eddie, you’re good!”. Richie added, “I’m gonna have to have a word with Stan. He didn’t tell me we had someone with the voice of a goddamn—sorry, ma’am—angel on this project.” Eddie was already blushing from Bev’s comment, but he felt his face burning when Richie used the word “angel” in a sentence about him. 

A voice—his mother’s, as it always was—was scolding him, telling him pride wasn’t Christian, telling him he was making a mistake, continued in the back of his mind, but he managed to squash it down for the rest of the day, and instead it was replaced with Richie’s loud laugh and mediocre but earnest singing voice. He knew it would come back, it always did, but at least he could ignore it for a few fun hours. He was having fun! It was a little shocking.

* * *

The music rehearsal was something that Eddie could handle. Each day they learned a little more of the film’s songs, and they did manage to find a ghost singer for Richie. An actor with experience on Broadway named Greg. He was nice, if a bit humorless. He was there to work, to learn his bits and sing them so he could eventually record them. He didn’t seem to have the desire to make friends. Richie would often stand behind him and pull exaggerated expressions as he sung, and Eddie hated that he laughed every single time. “He’s going to think we have a terrible work ethic,” Bev had said once after a rehearsal.

“I believe that ship has sailed,” Stan had replied. “I heard him mumbling something to himself about never working on a movie musical again. Anyway, we’ll be done with vocal stuff soon, and we’re starting on choreography tomorrow.”

Eddie was distracted by the ease of the vocal rehearsals that he had totally forgotten about the possibility of having to dance. He looked at Stan with what must’ve been a dumbfounded expression. “It’s just for the trio number,” Stan said, as if that was any reassurance.

“You mean the tap dance one?” Bev asked.

“Is there such a thing as a ghost dancer?” Richie chimed in.

Bev rolled her eyes. “Shut up, you’re light on your feet. Eddie, your eyes look like saucers.”

“They always look like that, it’s a part of his charm, don’t you think?” Richie said, which made Eddie turn his eyes to the floor and cross his arms over his chest. “Aw, don’t be shy now, Eds—”

“Beep-beep,” Eddie said firmly, and Richie backed off. 

“It’s not super advanced stuff, you don’t need to be Fred Astaire or anything. I wish you’d have more faith in our casting process,” Stan said. 

“It’s not that, Stan the Man, it’s that we have no faith in _ourselves_.” Riche said. “Why do you think people become actors? It’s all because of deep-seated issues we’re too afraid to confront.”

“Do you ever stop?” Eddie said, a little snappier than intended.

“Seriously, Rich, stop,” Bev said. “Really, Stan, we’re not mad at you or anything.”

“Well, I have more faith in you than anyone else.” Stan patted her on the arm. Richie and Eddie looked at each other and nodded, as if they were silently saying _good choice_. “Not to play favorites—but I’m playing favorites. Anyway, be here tomorrow, not late, with those tap shoes that we ordered you.”

They made their way out of the studio. “I’m fucked,” Richie declared. “It was nice knowing you all, but I can’t let Stan down for the millionth time. I’d rather die. So die I shall.”

“Don’t even joke about that,” Eddie said. 

“He was right—and wouldn’t have casted us if he thought we were going to crash and burn,” Bev said. “Let’s make a plan: we’ll go out for drinks after the dance rehearsal. That should make it a little more bearable, if we have something to look forward to afterward."

“She knows how to motivate me,” Richie said, looking at ease for the first time that day. “Okay. Drinks. You dig, Eddie Spaghetti?”

“Yeah, I’d like that. Good idea, Bev.”

She gave him a quick squeeze around his shoulders, something like a hug. “Can’t wait. See you all tomorrow, then.”

* * *

“I’m still sweating like a pig,” Richie breathed out, toweling behind his neck. “Nothing too advanced my _ass_ , Uris.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Eddie said, beaming a little bit despite the sweat. Dancing was never something that his mother allowed; in fact, in their church, it was a forbidden activity. Dancing was a sensual activity. It was carnal, it was worldly. And even if it wasn’t, Eddie had _asthma_. He had asthma, and weak legs, and a heart that wasn’t fit for such physical strain. But somehow, when he danced, his heart felt stronger. It reminded him of when he first moved out to LA, and went for a walk, for the first time, unaccompanied. Halfway through the walk, a sun-shower began, and in a burst of motherly-instilled fear of getting a cold from the rain, he ran back home. It was apparently a day for firsts, because he had never ran so far, even though it was just half a mile back. 

He had loved it. He loved running, the ache in his legs and the feeling like he could keep going and going, even with the cold rain beating down on his face. His legs were sore the next morning, and he laughed at the feeling, something foreign and new and intense. Intensity was always forbidden from him. Maybe it was why he had discovered that he loved to dance, it was intense and freeing and fast. Overwhelming in a different way than his mother’s love was. It was overwhelming in the way that every nerve on his body seemed to feel something. Instead of being smothered, he could breathe.

“Eds, you were really doing a good job with it,” Bev praised, slipping out of her tap shoes. “I think I owe you a drink.”

“How feminist of you,” Richie replied. “Do I get one too?”

“When you fix that flap-ball-change or whatever it’s called, then I’ll buy you a drink, Rich,” she said. “Besides, your taste in drinks is outrageous. Ready to go?”

“Let’s do it. I need an outrageous drink more than ever right now,” Richie replied, running a hand through his already-messy hair. Eddie watched intently, for seemingly no reason at all. 

“Yeah, me too,” he replied, swallowing thickly. He didn’t know why, but his mouth had gone dry. 

* * *

_NEW YORK DAILY NEWS_  
_JAN 15, 1949_  
_BEST PALS RICHIE TOZIER AND BEVERLY MARSH SEEN WITH “RAPIDS” STAR EDDIE KASPBRAK; FIGHTING FOR HER ATTENTION?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading as always, and thanks to the server for motivating me! you can always reach me on tumblr @gobbluthlesbian, so drop me a line!


	4. you'll sit and sigh, wishing that i were near

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! thanks as always for patience with these updates. heavy on the dialogue this chapter, but i love to write richie and eddie bonding, sometimes it feels like they take on minds of their own as i'm writing and they just keep talking and talking even when i'm thinking "oh, is this too much dialogue?". anyway, i hope you enjoy the chapter!
> 
> **content warnings for chapter** : sonia being sonia, verbal manipulation by a parent and gaslighting

Eddie got what must’ve been 100 phone calls in the weekend after the New York Daily News ran the story, or lack of one. There were no rehearsals on the weekends, which made it impossible to get away from. He had half a mind to call Stan and ask for an extra rehearsal just to get away from it all, but he didn’t want to bother anyone just because of his own problems. It was his first encounter with a tabloid—his first real one, anyway. When he started getting photographed by the paparazzi, his picture was stuck in the margins of the “celebrity sightings” sections of them, and he was always referred to as a “Lone Wolf”. “Lone Wolf _Rapids_ star Edward Kaspbrak eats lunch alone at new French-style café in Pasadena”. At first, he found it sort of funny, but then he just felt as if they were mocking him, which he supposed they were. 

He was starting to wish that he could go back to being a Lone Wolf again, especially when half the phone calls he was receiving were from his mother. The other half were from people requesting interviews—he declined all of them. What the hell was there to talk about? He went out to lunch for some friends? Hollywood was a different universe.

He was experienced enough with his mother to hang up the phone every time he said “hello?” and got a “Eddie, I can’t believe—” in response. Of course, she would call again, once, twice, three times in a row, and he would let it ring. He would put records on or the television, and turn it up loud enough that he was sure his neighbors could hear, but what else was there to do? He stopped picking up after what felt like two dozen calls.

The periodic calls came every hour and a half or so and stopped around dinner time, thank God. She (and the interviewers) couldn’t keep going forever. He felt half bad at the idea of Bill or even Bev or Richie trying to reach him and getting nothing, but hopefully they’d understand. And he was proud of himself for not picking up, for not letting her get to him. Sure, there was a gnawing guilt that grew in his stomach every time, and possibilities that overwhelmed his thoughts. _What if she hasn’t even seen the story? What if she’s just sick, or something went wrong and she needs me?_ He would ask himself. _Maybe she hadn’t read the tabloids at all._ She had great disdain for his career and told him about it as often as she could, so maybe she just didn’t pay attention at all?

It was when the phone rang in the middle of the night—just after midnight on Monday--that he lumbered to the living room to pick it up. He was too sleepy to think about who it could be or what it could be about. Part of him believed someone in his family, some extremely distant relative, had died. “Hello?” He croaked into the receiver.

“So _now_ you pick up,” Sonia snapped. “I knew you’d be up, people in that town keep such terrible hours, up all night drinking and doing drugs.”

“Ma, I just woke up,” he replied, “I was _asleep_.”

“Likely,” she said. “I’ve been trying to reach you for days, Eddiebear, would you like to explain why you’ve been ignoring your own mother?”

His mouth went dry, and he fucking hated himself for it. He realized then that she had chipped away at him, cut him down, and he was once again the scared boy with a stuck tongue and wobbly knees under her gaze. Worrying her so much she would claim heart problems, stomach problems, migraines. He was worrying the Lord, making Him angry. The Lord’s anger was a scary thing. The Lord’s anger could flood the entire Earth, and as she had mentioned before, he would hurt Hollywood the most of all. “Listen, ma, it’s been a busy few days, I’ve had a lot to do.”

“So much to do you’ve hung up every single time I’ve tried to speak to you?”

“Well, I’m listening now. Just say what you want to say, so we can both go back to sleep. I have rehearsal in the morning.” He realized after it left his mouth that he shouldn’t have mentioned rehearsal at all.

“Trust me, I know,” she said, as if it was a disdainful thing. “You’d rather be in front of a camera than sitting in a church. I’m sure you didn’t go today.” He assumed she meant Sunday, even though it was Monday morning. She kept odd hours, fading in and out of sleep in her bed with the radio on at a low volume. It wasn’t truly the next day until the sun had risen.

“I… listened to the pastor on the radio, Ma,” he lied, however unconvincing. “They’ve got plenty of gospel stations here.”

“Baptist?”

“Ma, it’s—”

“I knew you’d make excuses. I just don’t know where I went wrong, and why you want to hurt me so much.”

Eddie had heard that phrase thousands of times. How he apparently wanted to hurt his mother. It still felt like a punch to the gut; it made his chest tighten and his throat close up like it did when he had asthma attacks as a child. They always seemed to occur when his mother would peer over him, eyes large and intense and asking him, no, _telling_ him that he had done something to not only upset his mother, but God. Jesus Himself. And no matter how much he denied it, then or now, he could never convince her. Sometimes he wondered if he was dumb, because he still attempted to. “Ma. I promise. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Clearly you do. You run off to California after I did everything to instill good morals into you, you don’t call, you don’t come see me on the holidays, you don’t go to church—”

“I’m so busy—”

“It’s because you didn’t have a father,” she decided. Her voice took on an almost soft quality, mournful and bitter at the same time. “You didn’t have a strong male figure in your life. I really did fail you. That’s why you’re doing all of us.”

“Oh, c’mon, no,” he said, sinking onto the couch. “It’s not like you made dad die.”

“Still, you should’ve had someone—someone in town who could show you what a real man was.” Her voice wavered, and for a split second he wondered if she was faking her tears, and then felt incredibly guilty for thinking it. 

He rubbed his eyes. “Listen, I really got to go to bed. Put I promise, you didn’t fail me. You’re…” he swallowed thickly, “you’re right. I’ll go to church next Sunday, won’t just listen on the radio. Promise.”

“Thank you, Eddie. Please pick up your phone next time. And be careful around those two stars you’re working with. Who knows what they get up to when you’re not around. I don’t want to see your face on the magazines with a drink in your hand!” Her voice was sweet now, proud of her little boy, trusting that he’d make things right with himself and the Lord.

“Okay,” he said. “Okay. Goodnight. Get some sleep, ma, please.”

“I’ll pray for you. I love you, Eddiebear.”

“Yes. I love you too.” He said his goodbye so quickly and hung up even quicker, before she could add anything else in.

He flopped down onto the couch, expecting to be exhausted after that conversation. He always was exhausted after speaking to his mother. It was a constant reminder of, _oh, that’s why I don’t pick up the phone when I know it’s her calling anymore_. But somehow, he always picked up the phone. He was a fool and he knew it.

He wasn’t exhausted, tonight, though. He was wide awake, staring at the popcorn ceiling of his tiny living room. Maybe he would turn on the radio for a little while, on a low volume, so the neighbors couldn’t hear. That would lull him to sleep. He padded over to the other side of the the room to flick it on to its normal station. He would listen, and he would make tea, and he would go back to sleep if it was the last thing he did. He needed to get some sleep, or he would crash and burn at rehearsal tomorrow. 

He was taking out the kettle to make a pot of unsweetened black tea when the phone rang again. He got a sudden, strong feeling of deja vu. “Jesus Christ,” he mumbled, then looked up to the ceiling again, as if to apologize to Jesus himself for taking his Good Name in vain. He picked up the phone with a quick, sharp motion. “Ma, I am _going to bed_.”

“Huh? Do I have the wrong number?” 

It was Richie Tozier.

Heat flooded Eddie’s cheeks, and he wondered if he could get away with slamming the phone down and pretending nothing happened. That would be a little cruel, though, so instead he managed to get out an, “Oh, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. If you were expecting a call from your ma, I can hang up, I’d hate to keep you.” Richie sounded wide awake too, like he was calling him in the middle of the day and not one in the goddamn ( _Sorry, God_ ) morning.

“No, no, it’s fine. My ma did call me, but I thought she was calling me back, because she kind of has a tendency to—oh, it’s not important. She talks a lot.” He looked into the kitchen, where the empty kettle sat on the unlit stove. 

“Oh, trust me, I know all about that. My father is the same way. Between him and me, I’m surprised my mother didn’t run away in the night.” Richie laughed, and Eddie had to chuckle a little, too. He guessed that Richie had to inherent his ability to talk that much from somewhere. “So your ma is alive and kicking, huh? How’s that? It’s nice of her to check up on you.”

Alive and kicking seemed generous. “She does alright for herself,” he replied, “My father, um, he died when I was just a kid, so she did all she could for me. She worries sometimes, though.” It was a very sanitized account of things, but again, it was one in the goddamn morning, and Richie didn’t ask for Eddie to go in deep about his childhood and what his mother was really like. It was small talk. “Your parents are still around, too?”

“Yup, believe it or not. Dad actually went away when I was a kid, too, for the first World War. He’s a dentist. Could you believe they needed those? Doctors I understand, but dentists?”

“Toothaches can be very distracting.”

“I guess you’re right. But I get what you’re saying. Mom did her best. I think she kind of…didn’t know what to do with me. Tried to get me to play ball, and I was just awful, but I was too high energy and if I stuck around the house all day I’d drive her crazy, so she just kind of let me wander for awhile there. Not like I was a wayward child! I came home every night, had a bed to sleep in and plenty of food. But I was…I was a wild child. She wasn’t surprised when I dropped out of college and went to LA.” 

Eddie smiled into the receiver, finding the tension in his shoulders beginning to melt away. “No brothers or sisters then.”

“Nope, just me. I think my darling mother wishes she would’ve had a girl, though. It would’ve been easier on her.”

Eddie sat down on the couch, running a finger up and down the coil of the phone cord, thinking on that. If he was a girl…he couldn’t see his mother acting in any other way. Maybe she would be worse. “I’m an only child, too,” he settled on. “Ma didn’t remarry after dad died. I think it made her too sad.”

“I can’t imagine, man,” Richie said. “To think I used to wanna go to war when I was a kid. Ha!” His laugh was bitter and sharp.

“Oh, dad didn’t die in the war. He had cancer. He got cancer before he even had a chance to enlist.” No use in not being honest about it.   
Richie let out a low whistle. “Whew. Sorry to hear. And you were just a kid, too? Life really isn’t fair, is it?”

“Yeah, I guess not. I don’t even remember him, really.” Eddie had left the one picture of his father that he owned at his childhood home, with his mother, and as that realization sunk in, a pang of guilt hit him right in the stomach. “You ever wonder how things would be different if something was in your life, or wasn’t in your life?”

“Mhm. Every day, Eddie my love,” Richie replied. Eddie huffed out a chuckle at the petname.

“Sorry for talking so much, I guess you got me thinking. Why did you call me, anyway? Couldn’t sleep?” 

“Oh,” Richie laughed a little, too. “Well, I couldn’t sleep, yeah, but I can never sleep. Bona fide insomniac, I am. But I think I meant to call you to ask if you saw all the papers.”

Eddie had almost forgotten. He rubbed his eyes and sighed deeply. “Yeah, yeah, I saw all the papers. What did they say about us? We’re fighting for Bev’s affection? It’s so bizarre.”

“Not so bizarre,” he countered, “They’ve been saying things like that about Bevvie and I for years. I feel for her, I feel like every goddamn interview she’s asked if she’s got a man in her life and if it’s me. We make sort of a game out of it, but it gets old.”

Sometimes Eddie had moments where he remembered that Richie had been in this city longer than him; this was one of those moments. He had never heard him sound quite so world-weary, though. He expected him to make some sort of joke out of it. “I can imagine. I guess it feels odd to me because—well, you know, people don’t really speculate about me like that. Though when I was in Rapids I started getting called a lone wolf because I wouldn’t take anyone to events.”

“I remember that,” Richie replied, “Seems a little unfair to you. For all they know, you could get any gal you’d want. Hell, that’s what I think.”

Eddie’s face scrunched up and he nearly hid it in his hands. There was so much Richie didn’t know. “Oh, God, thanks, but…you don’t have to flatter me like that.”

“I’m not flattering, shut up. You’re an upstanding fellow.” He put on a voice, but he didn’t sound less genuine. “But it is goddamn annoying to be bugged about it so damn much. I don’t think these rumors about us and Bev are going to go away any time soon, so you’d better get used to it.”

“It’s not like we have any control of it, I suppose, and we don’t have to read the papers. I try to avoid them.”

“We can try our best. Just prepare for the questions in interviews once the movie’s out.”

“Ugh.”

Richie laughed again. “Yeah. Ugh. Regretting auditioning for the movie yet?”

“Oh, I started regretting that when we learned that damn dance,” he joked.

“God, me too.” A moment of silence passed, the first quiet second since Eddie had picked up the phone. He looked to the clock—they had been talking for much longer than he realized. “It’s late, isn’t it?” Richie asked, like he had read Eddie’s mind.

“Yes. Way too late for us to be talking when we have rehearsals tomorrow.” 

“Like I said, I’m an insomniac. But I’ll have some bourbon and it’ll put me to sleep eventually. You know, we oughta stop at a cafe one day before rehearsal. I’ll buy you a coffee.”

“I’m sure there will be lots of pictures of us if we do that.”

“No problem with that,” Richie said, “I don’t think they’ll say that we’re a couple, right?”

Eddie could’ve choked on his own spit. “Oh—don’t say things like that.”

“Hah. I know. I’m terrible. Goodnight, Eds.”

“G’night, Richie.” He put the phone back on the hook and rolled over on his side on the couch. His eyes felt heavier than before, and he felt sleep creeping up on him. He didn’t bother to get up and make his way to his bed, though he knew it would wreak havoc on his back. All he could think about was Richie’s last few words, about “we” and “couple” being in the same sentence.

He always tried to push these feelings down, when they came. It had happened during shooting for _Rapids_ , too. His co-star, Chris, was tall and curly-haired and had eyes that crinkled when he smiled, too. The knots that Eddie was currently feeling in his stomach were nothing new. The problem was that Chris was nowhere near as personable as Richie. Chris wouldn’t have called him in the middle of the night just to chat, or offered to buy him coffee. It was somewhat easy to get over Chris; even if he had returned the feelings, he was married for God’s sake, and Eddie didn’t dare go down that path. It was far too dangerous, especially for someone just starting out. It would be dangerous for both parties involved.

As much as Eddie hated danger, he couldn’t control the way his mind drifted to the crinkles around Richie’s eyes, the way one of them was a little more lidded than the other, giving him something of a lazy eye that was incredibly endearing. He couldn’t get his singing voice out of his mind, as bad as it was. His laugh that could permeate a whole room. The way he touched people so casually, but never invasively, whether it was wrapping an arm around Eddie or nudging him or patting him on the back. His lips and his smile—  
Eddie fell asleep, one arm hanging off the couch, thinking only of one person.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading and feel free to talk to me on tumblr @gobbluthlesbian! xoxo

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading, and thank you to all my friends in the discord server for encouraging me to continue with this project for so long. i can't wait to hear what people think! xoxoxo


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